Whenever I see this photo of Lynne’s mom in their kitchen, I think of a Sunday I called over there when Lynne and I were still junior high age. Elnora answered the phone, and I asked for Lynne.
“Dammit, Becky, I can’t talk to you right now! The house is on fire!”
Then she hung up. Meanwhile, Liz was driving Lynne back from their aunt’s house when a firetruck raced past them. They wondered where the fire might be, only to arrive home to say, “It’s HERE!”
Apparently, the homebuilder hadn’t vented the exhaust fan above the stove. Elnora was frying chicken with the fan running, and when a small grease fire broke out, the flames were sucked right through the fan and ignited some insulation covering the opening where the vent should have been. Fortunately, the firefighters were able to contain the flames to the roof over the kitchen.
From my perspective, the story was all in her mother shrieking on the phone and hanging up, which somehow eventually became very funny to me. Of course, I didn’t have to live with the smoke damage, the hole in the roof, or the annoyance of home repairs.
Rob E spoke of “The September Song” in a post on his blog, and I mentioned how that and “Try To Remember” are both beautiful songs about September. They were originally from two different Broadway shows decades apart, and they share a wistful sadness. Lynne’s mother died in September of 1978, and for a couple of reasons, “Try To Remember” will always be linked to that sad occasion for me. But most of the stories that make me think of Elnora are full of laughter. She was my second mother, and she taught me so many things (including how to make buttonholes on my Home Ec project!).
She was also the first working mom I really knew in an era when that was uncommon.
I learned a lot from her example in how she conducted herself as a career woman, supported organizations of women in the building industry, and maintained great professional and personal relationships with other working women. I wish we’d had more time with her. I especially wish she could have known her grandson and great-granddaughter, and they could have known her.
…it’s nice to remember, although you know the snow will follow…it’s nice to remember, without a hurt the heart is hollow…
Photos from Lynne’s collection.